Silent Partner (12 page)

“You sure you don’t want me to stay? Ken and I have been working on several important projects together, but he isn’t up to speed on all of the developments. It might help if I were here to fill in the gaps.”

“No need,” Dudley replied brusquely. “This will be mostly social.” That would make Hill feel even worse. “We’re done, Carter.”

Chuck Reese leaned back in his office chair and gazed out into the darkness at the lights of the Sumter Tower a quarter of a mile away, visible again now that the snowstorm had let up. Bob Dudley was up there at the apex of that tower, twenty stories above the top of the building Albemarle Capital leased. Probably looking down here right now with smug satisfaction, Reese thought to himself glumly, catching his reflection in the glass. Winning the golf grudge match wasn’t enough any longer. There had to be more.

Reese turned to the side, checking his profile: still no spare tire and not even the hint of double chin, still a full head of blond hair, still in pretty damn good shape for sixty-two years old. He took great pride in the fact that, late last year, the
Wall Street Journal
had run an extensive article on him, describing him as “a high-energy executive who looks and acts half his age. A man who turns one day into four because he accomplishes twice as much as others do in half the time.” The reporter had documented the fact that Reese was a natural-born risk-taker, parachuting from airplanes, driving his collection of Porsches in a southern road-race circuit, and, last summer, sailing from Newport News to England solo.

Which was why he was completely at ease in the ulcer-inducing equity markets and Bob Dudley had chosen banking. Bob Dudley had no appetite for risk. He was a bully when he had the odds in his favor, but he never took a chance without them. He’d never go for that long shot over water with a fairway wood. He’d always lay up, which was why he would always lose.

Reese turned away from the window and punched up a couple of stock tickers on his computer, wondering how he and Dudley had become such bitter rivals. They’d been close in college and during the first few years at Sumter. But somewhere along the way, the relationship had soured.

“Chuck.”

“Yeah, come on in, Andy,” Reese called, looking up from the computer screen.

Andy Phillips was Albemarle’s head of equity research. Only six years out of Harvard Business School, Phillips already had a growing reputation on Wall Street as a superb stock picker. “Had another idea, Chuck.”

Everyone was on a first-name basis at Albemarle, no matter the age or seniority of position. And dress was business casual every day. Reese liked all of that. Being comfortable made for a better working environment. He knew full well how staid and stiff things were at Sumter. “What’s that, young gun? What’s your next billion-dollar idea?”

“I think we oughta short General Datacom in a big way. It’s a—”

“A storage device company out in San Jose,” Reese interrupted. “About six hundred million in revenues and they’ve suffered delays getting their next-generation device to market. So what?”

Phillips chuckled. Of course, Chuck Reese knew that. Chuck Reese knew everything. “They’re about to report bad results for the last quarter.”

“The market already seems to know that,” Reese said, punching up a chart of the company’s stock. “The share price is off 10 percent in the last two weeks.”

“Right, but what the market doesn’t know is that the senior managers out there are about to mutiny. They can’t stand the CEO. The stock’s probably going to fall 30 to 40 percent when the shit hits the fan in a couple of weeks.”

“How do you know this?”

“A friend. He says the product is ready, but the problem is that there’s infighting among senior management.”

Reese held up his hand. “Andy, never attribute to malice what can be explained by ineptitude. Hold off on that one. They’ll end up getting it right out there. But I liked your ideas earlier today concerning the health-care sector. Go for it there.”

“Right.”

“That’ll be all.”

“Thanks, Chuck.”

“Sure.” Reese watched the young man exit the office, then turned back to the window and glanced up at the Sumter Tower again. Everything else in his life was good. If only he could look
down
on the Sumter Tower.

CHAPTER SIX

The Fan—named for the way its main avenues spread west from Richmond’s downtown like the spokes of a lady’s fan—is an eclectic neighborhood nestled between the outskirts of center city and the upscale, old-money residential area of the West End. The antebellum homes overlooking the Fan’s tree-lined streets are large but built close together, with small yards taken up mostly by flower gardens. Over the years many of the old homes have been divided into apartments, so the Fan is densely populated. Health food stores, art galleries, and offbeat boutiques dot the main avenues, and, unlike other areas of the city, backgrounds, creeds, and colors are as diverse as the residents’ interests. Blacks and whites. Young and old. Hippies, professionals, creative types, and students. It’s the city’s melting pot.

Angela slid into a wooden booth in Castro’s, named not for Fidel but for a rhythm and blues band, Skip Castro, that had gained a measure of fame in Virginia during the seventies and eighties, but never quite made it onto the national scene. On the other side of the scratched table sat Kate Charboneau, a slim woman in her early forties. Kate had long blonde hair that cascaded past her shoulders in unruly waves, penetrating hazel eyes, thin features, and fair skin.

They hadn’t spoken in two years. Not since a last-ditch appeal to win Hunter back had ended in an emotionally painful defeat, and now Angela found herself wishing they had kept in touch. Kate was always optimistic, even when the situation seemed bleak. She had pledged to Angela that someday they would win Hunter back. Maybe she’d been right after all.

“Sorry I’m late,” Angela apologized. It was quarter to seven and she’d promised to be at Castro’s by 6:30. She hated to keep people waiting. “Traffic was terrible because of what’s leftover of the snow. The streets coming out of downtown are pretty icy.” Kate’s office was in the basement of a four-story mansion a few blocks away, so she would have gotten to Castro’s without much trouble.

Kate smiled. “No problem. Was it hard to find a place to park?” she asked in her heavy Southern accent. She had come to Richmond from New Orleans for law school and never left.

“I got lucky. Someone was leaving just as I pulled up in front of my apartment.”

“So you still live out here?”

“Yes, same place as before. It’s just a few blocks away.” Angela spotted Kate’s half-empty glass of white wine as she placed her coat down beside her on the bench seat. “How’ve you been? Practice going OK?”

“I’m finding a way to make ends meet.” Kate practiced mostly family law, mostly by herself. She’d had several partners over the years, but only for short periods of time. They inevitably became frustrated with her penchant for giving away her services to the poor. “Same as always.”

Angela motioned to a waiter that she wanted a glass of wine, too. She’d hired Kate six years ago because she seemed determined. Plus, she was affordable. If money hadn’t been a problem, she would have hired the other prominent law firm in town—the one Chuck Reese hadn’t hired. But the partner Angela had spoken to there wanted five hundred dollars an hour and a ten-thousand-dollar retainer just for starters. And he’d given her a condescending look that had told her he didn’t really want the case.

“You look great.”

Kate laughed. “You’re always so nice, Angela. The truth is I look three years older, and I ought to start using more makeup. You’re the one who looks great.” She reached across the table and touched Angela’s hand. “I don’t know how you do it. I think you’re prettier now than the first time I saw you. You really ought to give up all the banking stuff and go into modeling.”

Angela scoffed. “I wish you’d been in charge of the agencies I talked to in college.”

Most of the fashion people who had visited campus had used phrases like “so close” and “just on the edge of what we’re looking for” when Angela had interviewed with them in her freshman year. It hadn’t helped that she didn’t have a portfolio—she couldn’t afford the expense—but one firm had invited her to their main offices in New York City anyway. They’d put her up overnight in the Plaza Hotel, wined and dined her, and told her that she had a real future in the business. But, after returning to campus, she’d never heard from the agency again, despite her repeated attempts to contact the people she’d interviewed with. She’d always wondered if the silence had anything to do with her background. The other girls visiting the agency that day were from places like East Hampton on Long Island, Darien, Connecticut, and the Main Line in Philadelphia.

“Unfortunately, the decision makers didn’t share your enthusiasm for my prospects in the industry. And that was almost fifteen years ago.”

“Well, they were wrong,” Kate replied adamantly.

Angela shrugged. “So what’s up?” she asked. “You sounded so mysterious on the phone this morning.”

“Danny Ford’s lawyer called me late yesterday afternoon.”

Danny Ford was one of the two men who had accused Angela of adultery in divorce court, one of the men who had helped ruin her life. “And?” she asked, picking up the glass of wine the waiter had just delivered.

“It seems Danny has some things on his mind he wants to talk about.”

Angela’s heart skipped a beat. Jake Lawrence must have made good on his promise. That was the only explanation for Danny’s sudden desire to talk. The timing was too convenient. “What does he have to say after all this time?”

“I don’t know yet. His lawyer wouldn’t be specific on the phone. He just said that they wanted to get together. I’ve arranged a meeting with them this coming Monday afternoon in my office.” Kate hesitated. “I think it would be best if you let me handle this one myself. Ford might not be as forthcoming if you’re there staring him down. He knows what he did to you.”

Angela nodded, gazing into her wineglass. She was certain of what Danny was going to say. He was going to say that he’d lied about the affair. Jake Lawrence had pulled some very powerful strings. God, the things money could do. “Let’s assume for a second Danny admits to you that he lied on the stand during the divorce proceedings,” Angela said.

“Don’t get your hopes up, Angela,” Kate was quick to warn. “You never know. He might just be—”

“I’m not getting my hopes up,” Angela interrupted. “I just want to make certain we anticipate all the possibilities, then react accordingly. As quickly as possible. What if Danny looks across the table at you on Monday and admits that he committed perjury six years ago? That he lied about having sex with me. That, other than in photographs, he’d never even laid eyes on me before the first day of the proceedings. What then?”

Kate thought for a second. “We might be able to get you some alimony, and—”

“I don’t care about alimony. All I care about is—”

“Getting Hunter back. Yes, I know that. I was going to say that we might be able to reopen the custody case as well.” She glanced away. “I wouldn’t be so confident except that . . . “

Angela couldn’t hear the rest. It was Thursday night and the bar was becoming crowded. Kate’s voice had faded into the growing hum of conversation and music. “What did you say?” she asked, leaning over the table.

Kate pushed her blonde bangs out of her eyes. “It’s so strange.”

“What is?”

“Remember you told me that you had once caught Sam in bed with another woman while you were married?”

Angela nodded slowly, the awful memory of the woman’s naked body wrapped around Sam’s flashing back to her. She had realized at that moment that her world was falling apart, that the risks had turned out to be too great after all, and that the choice she had made had been terribly wrong. “Yes,” she answered, her voice hoarse.

“I had a private investigator friend approach the woman before the trial, but she refused to testify. She told him that she would simply deny everything. That there were no objective witnesses, and we’d never be able to prove anything, which my friend confirmed.”

“Of course I remember.”

Kate swirled the wine in her glass. “That woman called me today, too. After you and I spoke this morning.”

Angela glanced up, a shiver crawling slowly up her spine. What was Jake Lawrence’s agenda? Why was he going to such great lengths to help? “And?” she asked, anticipating what Kate would say next.

“She admitted to having an eighteen-month affair with Sam that started a few months after you and he were married.” Kate shook her head, as if the timing of the two phone calls was hard to fathom. “She’s considering testifying to that.”

“Did you ask her why, after all this time, she would suddenly be willing to come forward?”

“I did, and she just said that her conscience had gotten the better of her. That and the fact Sam had promised her marriage and children and cars and homes and he hadn’t come through on any of it. I sensed there was a little bit of guilt and a lot of revenge in her motivation.” Kate finished what was left in her glass and nodded to the waiter that she wanted another. “Is there anything you’re not telling me, Angela?” she asked suspiciously.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m half expecting the other guy who accused you of screwing him behind Sam’s back to call me tomorrow.”

Angela shook her head. “I can promise you that won’t happen.”

“How?”

“The guy’s dead.”

“Really? How’d you do away with him?”

“That’s not funny.”

“Sorry. What happened?”

“He died in a car accident. He had a blood alcohol level of .23 and drove his BMW straight into a telephone pole at ninety miles an hour.”

“How do you know?”

“I saw an article in the Metro Section of the
Richmond Trib
two years ago. There was a picture of the accident, and his name was in the caption beneath. The name jumped out at me right away. I called a friend of mine at the paper, and she confirmed that it was the same guy.” Angela paused. “I suppose I shouldn’t have been happy, but I was,” she admitted quietly. “I guess I’m human.”

“We all are, honey.” Kate hesitated. “So?”

“So what?”

“So, is there anything you aren’t telling me?”

Angela didn’t answer until the waiter bringing Kate’s second glass of wine had come and gone. “No. Of course not.”

“You sure?” Kate gazed at Angela for several moments, her smile slowly turning into a frown. “I didn’t do very well in math class so I never understood much about statistics or probability, but the odds of getting those two calls within a twenty-four-hour period seem pretty remote. Especially after all this time.”

Angela shrugged and looked down. “I don’t know what to say.”

Kate nodded deliberately, as if Angela’s caginess told her everything. “You know what I always found so disturbing about the judge in your divorce case?”

Angela glanced up. “What?”

“The fact that he could believe you had affairs with two men while you were pregnant.”

Hunter had been born seven months after her wedding to Sam Reese, a wedding held before a justice of the peace in a small town just outside Durham with one of their business school classmates as the only witness. She hadn’t told Sam until after the wedding that she was pregnant because she hadn’t wanted to forever wonder about his motivation for marrying her. But in the end, it hadn’t mattered anyway. In the end, the two men who had testified to affairs with her had been able to convince the judge that they’d slept with her while she was as much as eight months pregnant, based on their testimony, based on the days they claimed to have been with her. Days, it turned out, Sam could conveniently prove he’d been out of town.

Kate had argued that there was no way the affairs could have taken place, that Angela loved Sam, and that no one could bring any credible evidence to bear of physical contact between either man and Angela. And that the notion that Angela would sleep with two men while she was eight months’ pregnant made the accusations categorically absurd.

The elderly male judge had stared down from his bench and, when Kate had finished her closing argument, awarded custody of five-month-old Hunter to the Reeses. Angela had simply stared at the man in his flowing black robe as he’d disappeared into his chambers after announcing the decision, which had been greeted with loud cheers from the Reese camp. Stared after the first person in her life she’d actually wanted to see endure horrible pain.

“That was despicable,” Kate continued, glancing toward the bar. “I have to tell you that there is one very large fly in the ointment here.”

“What’s that?”

“The judge doesn’t have to listen to any of this.”

Angela shrugged. “We’ll just have to see what happens.” She watched Kate take a long look at an attractive young man at the bar.

As Kate’s eyes drifted back to Angela’s, her expression brightened. “So what’s your deal these days? I figured you’d be remarried by now, but I don’t see a wedding band.” She tapped Angela’s ring finger.

“I’m still single.”

“You must be beating the men away with a stick.”

“No, I’ve been focused on my career lately.”

“Have you sworn off men because of your Sam Reese experience? Which would be understandable. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“No, nothing like that. I’m dating someone, but it isn’t serious. I doubt it’ll go anywhere.” She wasn’t really dating anyone, but this explanation seemed more convenient. “What about you?”

“Still playing the field.” Kate pushed the bangs from her eyes once more. “What are you doing?” she asked as Angela gathered her things.

“I apologize,” she said, taking a twenty out of her wallet and placing it down on the table by her empty glass, “but I’ve got to go.”

“I was hoping we could have dinner.”

“I’d love to, but I can’t tonight.” Angela stood up and slipped into her coat. “How about next week after you meet with Danny Ford and his lawyer?”

Kate nodded. “Great. I’ll look forward to it. I’ll call you Monday after I’ve met with them.”

“Call me the minute you finish,” Angela urged her.

“I will. I promise.”

A moment later Angela was out of Castro’s and into the quiet, cold Richmond evening. Most of the sidewalks had been shoveled, but the trees and buildings were still covered, and the Fan was a glistening winter wonderland in the faint rays of the streetlights. For a moment she took it all in—Richmond didn’t get snow very often. Then she pulled her collar up and walked briskly down a dark side street away from the wide avenue on which Castro’s was located.